


By the Arrows Grace

by Baelparagon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-24
Updated: 2016-06-24
Packaged: 2018-07-17 23:19:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7290136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baelparagon/pseuds/Baelparagon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During the feast of Winterfell an assassination attempt on Prince Joffrey's life is thwarted by the northern bastard of Eddard Stark. Following this point of convergence the realm will be changed forever. AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	By the Arrows Grace

Chapter 1: The Bastard and The Prince

THUNK!!! went the arrow as it sunk into the target, two and a half hands over o the left of the center. Jon snow frowned at the placement of the bolt, it might have been dark but he was usually better than this. That far out he likely wouldn’t have even hit his target. Nocking another arrow he drew the bow back, holding it only for a second before releasing it.

THUNK!!! Two hands above the center and to the right this time. Better but still not nearly good enough, had it been against a live target it would have it would have been a hit to the shoulder. Disabled possibly, dead unlikely. From the back of his head Ser Rodrik’s voice droned at him as it had from the practice yard. A man with a wounded shoulder can still put a sword through your belly, one with an arrow in his chest or throat. Center of the target, center of the man. Arrow in the center equals a dead man, you got it bastard?

THUNK!!! Unaware he had drawn his arrow the bolt flew from his bow, this time striking the target just below the bullseye. Giving himself a small smile Jon reached to grab another arrow only to find the quiver empty. With a small sigh he placed the bow against the wall and walked over the practice yard, pulling the arrows out with a slow and steady hand lest he break one. Arrows were expensive, and he after all was just a penniless bastard living off his father’s sense of duty. To the unasked and unmasked hatred of the mother of his siblings.

As he worked in the darkness he could hear the clattering of plates and the sounds of laughter as his family feasted with the king and his party. Jon had known when the king had been first announced to be coming to Winterfell that he was be like a shadow, only seen when one looked for him. He knew it, but it still stung when Lady Stark had made a point of telling him to his face, a mixture of satisfaction and disdain evident in her eyes. She also made sure to inform him that after the king arrived he was to be confined to his rooms, only to come out when it was unlikely he would be noticed. Almost as painful were the words his father had said to him next when he summoned him to his solar.

* * *

_Jon entered his father’s study as he worked on a document spread across his desk. Eddard looked up for a moment but motioned for him to sit and wait while he finished his writing and spread the salt to dry the ink. Once he finished he put his quill to the side and got straight to the point._

_“My Lady’s words should have been spoken by me, and more kindly, but she is right in this matter Jon. You are always welcome at my table my son, but the royal family being here complicates matters. They tend to look upon bastards much less favorably in the south. And it would be best if you remained away from the till they turn back south.”_   
_Jon responded back, swallowing the hurt pride in his voice. “Then if I am to remain out of sight of the guests, where and when should I practice? I don’t want to fall behind Robb or Theon.”_

_Eddard Stark looked at him for a moment, regret in his eyes before the Lord of Winterfell took his place. “During the nights you can practice in the yards, but you must keep the noise to an acceptable level. I will also make sure Lewyn provides you with letters and books to practice with during the day.”_

_“As you wish Lord Stark.” Knowing there was nothing left to discuss Jon stood up and gave a small nod before leaving the room, feeling the eyes of his father watching him go._

* * *

 

As Jon yanked the last arrow from the target he saw Ghost plod over to him from the side where he had been munching on the bone Jon had sneaked him from the kitchens. Ghost had initially been smaller than the rest of the pups, having been forced from the warmth and food of the mother, but he was quickly catching up to his kin. Jon grinned as he knelt down and rubbed his hand through his pure white fur, red eyes peering into his grey slate ones.

“You stick out where all can see you, but in winter you’ll be unseen by all.” Ghost merely cocked his head at him, eliciting a small grin from his owner. “Yeah I know I shouldn’t gripe, and we’ll head back soon. Just need to put in two more rounds of fire.”

Ghost merely sniffed before walking back over to chew what was left of his bone. Jon Put the quiver to his side and picked up his bow, going into the stance that had been drilled into him since he was old enough to hold a bow. He picked up the first arrow and knocked it, preparing to draw it back when the words of the imp passed through him.

Never forget what you are, the rest of the world will not. Wear it like armor and it can never be used against you.

Jon frowned and pulling the arrow back, let the bolt fly hard into the center of the target. One down, only five more to go.

* * *

  
Inside the halls of Winterfell the feast celebrating the kings arrival was proceeding as expected. The food was being devoured, music played from the rafters and the wine flowed as it hadn’t in years. Servants ran to and fro to serve their noble guests and the fire from the hearth and candles set the room in a warm glow. The feast had begun before the sun had set and if the king was any indication, it would continue well into the night.

For one guest though the time couldn’t pass by fast enough. Joffrey Baratheon, Prince of the Seven Kingdoms and heir to the Iron throne, was bored out of his mind. The meat was bland, the musicians were tone deaf and in comparison to the Red Keep Winterfell was a pile of rocks in the middle of nowhere. The only consolation he could find was in the surprisingly good wine, a bittersweet he came to like unlike the sweet wine his father always seemed to gorge himself on. Taking a sip of it from his chalice he took a look around the room, he found little to enjoy.

At the high table he saw his mother sitting next to Lord Stark’s wife, lips pinched in a tight line. She didn’t seemed to be enjoying herself either, and a quick glance he could tell why. When Father said the North had meat like I’d never tasted I didn’t think he meant it that way. Just how much did he have to drink to ignore that face though? With a small shudder he quickly looked away and caught sight of the elder Stark girl peeking at him.

Catching her eye he felt the prince part of his persona taking over, giving her his most charming smile and a raise of his glass. Her cheeks nearly turned as red s her hair and with a start she turned away, lips whispering and giggling to the girl sitting next to her. On the outside Joffrey was smiling but inside he felt a seed of something ugly curl in his stomach. He didn’t know what he was looking for but it wasn’t that, ladies like her always acted like that were so common down south it wasn’t amusing. Pretty, well-mannered and completely devoid of anything beyond their interest in his position, he didn’t know why that bothered as it did now. All he could feel was the tightening of his fingers around his handle.

Joffrey was pulled from his irritation as a small salvo of fire was fired from across the table and splattered across the girl’s cheek. “ARYA!!!” the girl gave out in a small shriek as a younger girl quickly hid a spoon under the table, a smirk being badly hid on her northern face. Joffrey felt the corner of his lips go up as Sansa scrubbed furiously at her cheek, the first true mirth he had felt since the feast began.

A signal must have been sent from one of the parents to the future heir of Winterfell, because with a turn and a twist he plucked his younger sister from the bench. Even as she protested the smirk remained on her face and was mirrored on her brothers, as he quietly shushed her and the two headed towards door leading to the bedrooms. Suddenly the room seemed that much louder and stuffier, and more than his wine the prince felt a need for fresh air.

Standing as quietly as possible Joffrey stepped away from the table and headed for the closest door. Opening it he slipped out to the hallway, quickly finding himself on one of the lower inner battlements. The cool almost crisp air made its way into his lungs and after a moment he felt the anxiety leaving him. Looking around he found himself alone, the sounds of the party fading and the darkness soothing. Above the dimly lit courtyard he closed his eyes and gave out a sigh, taking a sip from the chalice he hadn’t realized he’d taken with him.

“That fucking party to loud for you as well?” The wine went down wrong as Joffrey’s eyes snapped open, his chest arresting in small coughs as he looked to see his sworn shield leaning against the wall, sword by his scarred armor and wineskin in hand.

“Dog.” Joffrey coughed out with a growl “when did you get out here?”

“Same time as you, a shield stands by his charge. Not surprised you didn’t hear me, an elephant could charge through there without being noticed. And you seemed in a hurry.”

“It is nothing, just wanted a moment of peace away from these northern savages. I don’t know why father bothered to come here, these people are barely above wildlings in grace.” Joffrey said as he stepped in front of the hulking man, putting his back to the battlement.

Sandor snorted, arms crossing over the plate of his armor. “Were here cause your father wants to be here with his old friend, and sample some of the northern women while he’s at it. Beyond that I question little about.”

“Of course that’s your reasoning.” Joffrey said, the smugness making its way back into his voice. “A dog is meant to obey, not question things beyond his knowledge. Besides I know why we’re here, mother told me father wants to make Lord Stark his hand, and make me marry his twitheaded daughter.”

“By the gods, you make that sound like he’s sending you to the wall. Isn’t political marriage one of the reasons you were born in the first place?”

Joffrey would have responded except the sound of the door opening and closing caught his attention. The two looked over to see one of Winterfells guards walking towards them, a pensive spread across his face. He had a light brown beard and beady eyes that stared out at him from under his helmet, but otherwise he seemed unremarkble

“What the bloody hell do you want?” Sandor growled, his face contorting into a snarl. The man stopped a few paces away, his nervousness seeming to grow but still standing his ground. “F-Forgive me my prince, ser knight but the k-kin has noticed the princes absence and requests he return to the hall immediately.”

“Fine…inform my father I’ll be there in a moment.” Joffrey said, the note of annoyance not going unnoticed.

“Ap-Apologies for my presumption, b-but the king was rather insistent that you-

“Are you arguing with the prince?” Sandor snapped, stepping from the wall and glaring directly in the guards face. “The prince said he’ll return in a moment. Perhaps the cold has damaged your ears so you couldn’t fucking hear him, but if you say anything but yes your grace I’ll smash ya-“

The only warning Joffrey had before the blood sprayed across him was the mans face turning from afraid to a seemingly blank slate, something far more terrifying then it should have been. The guards hand seemed to blur as a dagger appeared and slashed across Sandor’s throat, the sworn shield giving out a small croak of surprise before his body turned and sprayed blood, collapsing to the stone. The guards eyes pivoted towards the prince and his arm cocked bath with a smooth motion, dagger poised to fly into the prince. In shock Joffrey gave out a yelled and stepped back, certain death had come for him.

This would come to save him, as his shoes slipped on the pooling blood and he fell over the battlements, hitting the roof of the stable and rolling to the cobblestones below as the dagger plunged into his shoulder instead of his throat. Falling twelve feet to the stone Joffrey felt a wrench in his knee, shooting pain which would have elicited a scream from him if the air hadn’t been pushed from his lungs. The impact also knocked the blade from his shoulder, his blood leaking free of the impediment. He began to crawl away as the assassin scaled down the stones of the battlements with far more ease than one should be able to achieve in medium plate armor. Dropping to his feet he marched towards him, drawing the shortsword at his hip. And behind him he could still hear the sounds of merrymaking taking place. He called out for help, screamed but the sounds of the feast carried on the wind, drowning out his pained yells. No one was coming to save him.

“N-N-No. Please don’t. I don’t want to die.” Joffrey wheezed as the man came to stand over him, tears streaming down as he futilely tried to get away.

“All men receive the gift sooner or later. Your gift was payed for long ago, with fire and blood.” The man grasped the blade with both hands, raising it above his head. “Valar Morghu-“

For the second time in a few minutes Joffrey watched a man die as an arrow flew into the man’s left eye, a small dinging sound being heard as the arrow impacted the helmet on the other side. Time seemed to stand still for a moment and then it sped up as his would be killer was thrown back to the ground. Joffrey found his eyes fixed to the man who seemed so terrifying moments ago, dead and bleeding from his skull.

“YOUR GRACE!!!” a voice yelled out from the shadows where the arrow had emerged from. He heard the footsteps coming from his left, and before he could fully turn a man was by his side, the sound of a bow clattering to the stone. From the corner of his eye he saw a white beast pad over to the dead man, sniffing the blood from his neck. The man had the northern look and hair as dark as the shadow and clothes he wore, with a somber face that seemed unused to being alarmed. If it wasn’t for the age he would have sworn he looked like a copy of Lord Stark.

“Who-who are you?”

“I’m Jon Snow, what the bloody hell happened.”

Joffrey felt lightheaded from the pain, and for a moment in the fog the name seemed to punch through the fog settling in on his mind. “Saved by the Stark bastard, the nobles will be laughing from here to Dorne.”

A hand clasped him on the shoulder making him turn his attention to the dark haired teenager. “You sound delirious your grace, by the old gods the blood!!!”  
Jon without hesitation ripped the sleeve from his tunic and wrapped it around the shoulder. Joffrey let out a yelp from the pain, but Jon ignored it, drawing as tight as he could.

“Your pulling it too tight. I can’t feel my arm.”

Good, it means the wound is temporarily sealed, but we need to get you medical help. Do you think you can stand?”

“No.” Joffrey grunted, the tears slowing down his face. “Most of the the blood on me is the Hounds, but I fell hard from the wall. My leg, by the gods it hurts”  
The alarm on the mans face seemed to recede a bit as he checked him quickly, grimacing when he looked at him lower.

“It looks like your knee popped out, but I don’t think its broken. Still I shouldn’t risk carrying you alone. We need to get you to Maester Luwin, please wait here and I’ll get help.”

The man began to rise, only for an arm to latch onto him. “NOO!!! Please don’t go, th-there might be others. D-Don’t leave me here.”

Jon Snow seemed conflicted for a moment, so he kneeled down by the prince. “Alright, I’ll lift you up, but you can’t thrash around, this is going to hurt. Put your good arm around my neck.”

Joffrey nodded his head and put an arm up grabbing onto the training leather. With a grunt Jon lifted him up and the prince had to bite down a shriek as needles seemed to stab into his knee and shoulder. He was vaguely aware of Jon calling for a ghost as he marched across the courtyard heading for the keep. Whatever he said the wolf seemed to understand, as it leapt up and grabbed the handle pulling the door open, allowing the two to enter. From the cold of the outside the warmth of the castle seemed to envelope them, on Joffrey didn’t realize how much he was shivering until that moment. He felt his eyes begin to droop only to be woken by a sudden shake, his leg screaming in protest

“We’re almost there, the great hall is just down the corridor, I need you to stay awake.”

Joffrey wanted to answer but he was tired, his eyes felt like they would slam shut. An image of the Hound with his throat slit passed through his mind, and the desire to close his eyes became even stronger.

Jon reached the door to the great hall and didn’t bother to wait for Ghost, lifting his leg and giving it a kick. The two found themselves assaulted by the noise before the door swung through and slammed against the wall, the wood and stone creating a boom that spread across the hall. Jon stepped into the hall as heads began to turn to the intrusion.

“MAESTER LUWIN, THE PRINCE NEEDS YOUR HELP.!!!”

For a moment time seemed to stand still as everyone in attendance looked in shock at the prince and the bastard, both standing with blood running down them. Then like waves on the shore the silence broken as his mother screamed followed by the red haired stark girl.

From there everything seemed to blur together as the room broke into chaos. Images swirled together as men rushed forward, the sounds of dishes and food being thrown aside as Joffrey felt the slightly twisted wood placed under his back. His father and his mother and a hundred other people swam in his view. His mothers frantic face was calling to him while his father and Lord Stark were yelling for the guards. Smoke and oak filled his nose as his mother was pulled away and the old master shambled to him and removed the bastard’s shirt from his shoulder, the pain causing the darkness to swarm in. He heard people calling to him, but he was too tired to care. The last thing he saw was Jon standing alone, seeming so much smaller than he had in the courtyard as his father and family roared at him, Lannister men moving towards him as Stark men moved to stand by him.

Then the light faded as he fell into a nightmare.


End file.
